|
Contents
Alabama
Florida
Georgia
Indiana
Louisiana
Missouri
South Carolina
Utah
Washington
Check for
local history books about your town
or search Amazon.com
from here
|
MISTER HOMER
(Florida)
Homer likes Negroes, and Negroes like
Homer. Some of them even have children for him. He is one of those
most-Americans, a "genu-wine Florida cracker." Born on a small farm near
Dinsmore, he left school after the fourth grade to help with the chores.
When he was eighteen his father died; the farm was sold and he and his
mother moved to Jacksonville.
Since then, for twenty-five years, he has been selling furniture,
clothing, and burial insurance to Negroes, often for nothing down and
about fifty cents per week. His competitors, whom he consistently
outsells, call him "nigger-lover." Homer replies simply that a dollar is a
dollar, regardless of the color of its former owners.
Some of his attitudes towards Negroes are perhaps representative of the
attitudes of Southern white tenant farmers, wage workers, unemployed.
I accompany him as he makes his rounds in the Negro sections. Skillfully
he manoeuvers his battered automobile through the deep sand ruts and the
dunes at street crossings. The Negro shacks are dilapidated and unpainted;
very few have plumbing, but are equipped with pump and sink on the back
porch, and an outhouse.
Homer is almost continuously blowing the horn at his Negro friends. A
powerfully-built young man leaps from the path of the automobile, frowns
at first, then recognizes Homer and grins.
"Look out dere Mister Homer!" he shouts.
As we turn a corner Homer suddenly jams on the brakes. A gray-haired Negro
man is leaning on the fence.
"Well I'll be hanged!" Homer says to him. "I thought you was dead and in
hell long ago! And here ya is lookin younger than ever. How many women ya
keepin now Uncle Henry?"
The old Negro laughs. "Gawn Mister Homer--you knows ah's too old for dat.
Whur you been keepin yourself? Ah ain seed you sinst de woods was burned."
"Oh I been roun," says Homer. "How's Mary? And all them fine
grandchillern--nearbout growed I guess?"
"Yessuh, dey growed all right. But times is hard wid dem, like everbody
else."
"Well Henry, here's my card. Better not lemme hear of you buyin from
nobody but me."
"Yessuh Mister Homer. Ifen ah gits any money ahead ah'll send for ya."
"You look out fer them women now Henry," warns Homer as we drive away.
"I don't see how you remember so many faces, "I remark.
"Rememberin niggers' names and faces and famlies and troubles is what
keeps me in bisness."
"You must remember a great deal--they have such large families and so many
troubles."
"The two go tagether," he says, shifting gears to second to pull through
the deep dry sand. "What beats me is why niggers ain a heap sight worse
than they is. They puts up with more than I blieve any other race of
people could stand. The nigger's cursed. The Bible says so. Cursed like
the mule--the mule kaint reproduce its kind. Course the nigger can do thet
awright...it's a good thing, cause it keeps em satisfied. But the mule and
the nigger ain got no spirit--they was meant ta work. Jus lookin at a
nigger you can see he's cursed. He's cursed cause he's black--"
"What about the Chinese?" I interrupt. "Are they cursed because they're
yellow?"
"Well...no. Yeller is the Chink's nachul color. But niggers ain like other
peoples. They got no damn brain! Their heads is too thick--ya kaint hardly
kill a nigger by beatin him in the head. Ya ever seen a nigger worry? Ya
never will. Ya watch one set down with his mind all made up ta worry bout
sumpum another, an' first thing ya know he'll be fast asleep!"
"Perhaps that's a good thing."
"Yeah. Maybe so. I wisht I could do more sleepin and less worrying myself.
Ifen it ony took as little ta make me happy as it does a nigger..."
"You said Negroes aren't very intelligent. What about all the prominent
Negro educators, doctors, lawyers, writers, and other professional men?"
"Every nigger whas got any sense is got it cause he's got some white blood
in him."
"Do you know that psychologists have tried to discover if there are any
differences in the intelligences of whites and Negroes, and that they
haven't found any that might not be attributable to a difference in
cultural factors?"
"That might be true. All I'm a-sayin is that there is differences--I ain
a-claimin ta know what causes em."
We stop in front of a rickety and abandoned-looking frame house. Scrawled
near the door with a piece of chalk I see: THIS OLD SCHOOL IS 43 YEARS
OLD. There are no screens over the windows, and the glass panes are
broken. Children of all ages are barely visible in the gloomy one-room
interior.
"What are you going to do here?" I ask.
"Tryn collect on a oil stove I sold the teacher. She owes fer three weeks
now. Generly when one of my customers misses two weeks I ties their tail
in a knot. But these teachers don't git paid reglar--half the time they
works fer nothin. I don't never aim ta sell nothin ta no nigger teachers
no more."
He strides up to the door, and is met by a young woman. "I'm so sorry to
have to put you off again, Mister Homer," she says, "but I haven't
received my check as yet. This makes three months now, and if I wasn't
living with my mother I don't know what I would do. I called up the school
board about it yesterday, and they said they weren't sure when the checks
would be mailed. But just as soon as I receive it I certainly will call
you, first thing."
"All right, Sister Singleton," says Homer. "You know I'm bein mighty good
ta you. It's very seldom I lets an account git this far in arrears. You
got sense anuff ta know I kaint give stoves away. I'm gonna wait on ya a
little while longer, but I'm dependin on ya ta have some money fer me the
nex time I come out here"
"I'll do the very best I can," she promises, "and I certainly appreciate
our being so lenient with me."
He walks slowly back to the car, and we jolt on our way.
After a few minutes of silence, Homer suddenly exclaims: "A nigger's got
no more use with schoolin than he is with a airplane! Whas he gonna do
with it? Thas one of the things ruinin em now. They goes ta school awhile
and first thing ya know they done decided they don't wanna work. They git
so no-count and sorry they ain no good ta nobody. All they does is tryn
figger out some way ta make money fer theyselves. They gits the notion
they wants white-collar jobs, when there ain no white-collar jobs fer em."
"Perhaps Negro schools aren't good enough." I suggest. "Although the
constitution provides for the equal education of the races, this state
spends about forty dollars per year for the education of every white
child, and only about fourteen dollars for every Negro. And throughout the
South, seventy-five percent of the Negro children leave school before
completing the fifth grade."
"I done told ya what nigger schools is good for. Ifen the State's
a-spending twelve cents a year on em, then thas just twelve cents throwed
away!"
"Do you think it would be a good idea
to change the schools; to teach trades and agriculture, rather than the
traditional subjects which the Negroes seldom use?"
"Now ya talkin. --But after ya trains em ta be good mechanics and farmers,
who's gonna give em jobs on farms? The way things is bein run, the world
ain makin use of the mechanics and farmers there is now... and changin
nigger schools ain gonna change thet!"
Again we stop, this time in front of the Zion Star Baptist Church. A group
of women are gathered on the church steps, roasting spare-ribs over a
charcoal pot. Homer gets out, walks over to them, slaps a buxom black girl
loudly on the rump. They laugh, and the girl complains, "Wy you got to be
so hateful Mister Homer?"
"Roberta," he says, "I jus seen thet sorry husben of yours lyin up with a
high-hat yeller gal on the other side of town."
Roberta pretends to be indignant. "You ain seen no siche thing--you de
bigges liar ever was!"
"Sho nuff. It's the honest ta God's truth. I don't know why you don't git
shet of thet no-count rascal and let me pick you out a good man." He
selects a spare-rib and begins to chew on it.
"Gimme a dime for dat spare-rib," demands Roberta. "We gotta buy de Revrun
a new pair of shoes."
He gives her the dime. "You tell the Revrun I'm gonna pray fer the Lord ta
strike him dead ifen he don't hurry up and buy some carpet fer the
church."
"Man, you better gawn bout your bisness! De Lawd ain pain no mind ta folks
what talks like you."
"How bout some of you ladies givin me a little order? I got the bigges
sale goin on ever was held in this county. And it ain no wild-cat
stuff--real high class merchandise. Ya kaint afford ta miss it.
"How we gonna buy nothin when we ain got no money?"
"You don't need much. You got plenty money anyway."
"Huh! Ifen ah is got it, ah sho like ta know whur it's at! Money is scarce
as hens' teeth. It ain a matter of needin--ah needs plenty stuff--but ah
ain had no steady work now for seven months. Las job ah had ah worked for
a lady what had plenty money; ah mean ah worked full time, and she ain
paid me but five dollars a week. Collored folks in dis town has to work
for little or nothin."
"Well, when ya gits ready, lemme know," says Homer. "Bye Sugarfoots," he
calls to Roberta as we drive away.
"Les stop somewhere fer a beer," Homer suggests, "my bizness always picks
up after a beer or two. We'll go over here ta the Red Rooster Bar."
We enter the Red Rooster; it is a typical "jook joint"' there are the
requisite nickelodian, booths, and small dance floor. A placard over the
bar reads:
WE DO NO BUSINESS FOR CREDIT
AND DAMN LITTLE FOR CASH
We sit in a booth and order beer. Several young Negro men gathered at the
bar talk boisterously to the light-skinned waitress. The nickelodian
breaks into a full-voiced roar, playing a record that is currently
popular:
"Hot nuts! Hot nuts!
I got the hottest nuts in town!
Anybody here wanna buy my nuts?
I got nuts for sale..."
The Negroes at the bar begin trucking and jitter-bugging.
"Take a good look at em," says Homer. "They's probly school gradu-ates.
Thas the kinda niggers whas growin up in the cities--not ary one of em
worth the powder and lead twould take ta blow him ta hell!"
"You prefer Negroes from the country?"
"They's better niggers--knows their place. Ain none of these lazy
smart-alecks."
"I don't suppose that, for a Negro, there is much choice between a
poor-paying job, unemployment, or relief in a city, and share cropping,
working with turpentine, phosphate, citrus, or beans in the country."
"Cept country niggers is ginnerly more healthy."
"I understand the incidence of syphilis and tuberculosis among Negroes in
Southern cities is alarming."
"I don't know nothin bout no incidence, but I do know for a fact that nine
outa ten niggers has syphilis or gonorrhea at one time or another durin
their lives. Half the houses I go to I can show you somebody broke out
with syphilis sores. They don't think nomore of it than they do a cold."
"Did you know that this is one of the six counties, out of the sixty-seven
in the State, that offers free treatment to Negroes with syphilis?"
"Yep; the niggers here is lucky. But the way them syphilis shots is give
they don't do no good. A nigger will wait till he gits it real bad, and
then run over ta the hospital and take a shot or two. The shots make him
feel so good he jus decides he's overed it and don't need no more
treatment. After a few years when it comes back on him it's too strong to
cure so he turns up his toes and dies. Givin the shots is like mowin grass
on rough ground--whacks off a little on top of the hills."
"I suppose Negroes are pretty busy trying to earn a living. According to
the last census, only half of the half million Negroes in this State are
normally employed."
"And half of them whas got jobs is women. Thas another thing ruinin the
men in the cities--they have ta lie roun and let some women support em.
The niggers on farms is in a even worse fix. I went ta a political rally
not long ago, and heared some fool politician stand up there and say thet
the reason cabbages is rottin in the ground is cause the govermint is
meddlin in agriculture. A man who'd say a thing like thet oughta be
lynched! The ony damn reason farmers ain gittin one cent a pound fer
cabbage, instead of three cents like they is, is cause the govermint
helped em out.
"Politicians is ruinin this country. The ony time they ever work is durin
campaigns, and after thet them whas elected steals all the money they can
while they rests up fer the nex campaign.
"Roosvelt's tried his bes ta help the poor people, but the big shots and
crocked politicians have jus about spoilt it all. Ifen it hadn't been fer
him, them crooks woulda gotten whas comin ta em long afore now.
"But lemme tell ya sumpums Jus as sure as God made little apples, the
laborin men's day is comin and it ain far off. The labor unions better git
shet of their crooked leaders and shake the lead out while Roosvelt is
still in the White House--otherwise there ain no tellin what kinda outfit
will be runnin this country nex!"
"Why aren't more Negroes joinin unions?" I inquire.
"They're joinin. Ya jus don't see much about it in the papers. Till right
recent there wasn't no nigger unions in the South ta speak of; there was a
few skilled craft unions, but they wasn't no way directly connected with
local white unions. Now industrial unions is really doin the job,
specially with the seamen, longshoremen, citrus workers, and sich like.
"Ya notice the papers had plenty ta say bout thet citrus strike--said them
niggers strikin wadn't good Americans. Now maybe thet paper was
right--maybe niggers never was meant ta be good Americans. But ain nary a
slave asked ta be brought over here.
"The white men and nigger been so busy fightin over little jobs what don't
even keep em from starvin, thet they ain been able ta see they oughter git
together so they could demand higher wages. I reckon when thet does happen
the papers will have a lot more writin ta do bout "bad Americans." But the
whole thing in a nut-shell is: the ony reason why most poor people ain
actin like "bad Americans" is thet they jus ain had nobody explain it ta
em right!
"Them union organizers what comes down here from the North don't know how
ta talk ta us crackers, much less how ta handle niggers. The organizers I
talked ta acted like they had too much sense; they thought they knowed
everything. --Ya know a ignunt man thinks edjacated folks is all crooks.
"I may not know nothin bout the organizin bisness, but ifen I was ta ever
take a notion ta organize niggers I'd have fifty percent of em in this
county signed up in three months!
"Ifen ya goes bout it right, with a little time and sense ya can sell a
nigger anything. Ya kaint hardly tell a nigger a thing is so good he won't
believe ya. All my life I been sellin em stuff thet wudn't worth a tenth
what they paid fer it. I've sold em thousands and thousands of dollars
worth of junk and they liked it; it was no good or bettern the stuff other
people sold em. I sold it by talkin ta em and treatin em like they was
human beins--and I didn't act high-hat or let em know how much I know.
"When talkin didn't do the trick. I handed out free dishes, medical
advice, or lines from the Good Book. I got em divorced and I got em
married again. And you think I'd have trouble gittin em inta unions? When
all I'd have ta do is sign em up, and git em ta pay a little dues? Not me!
I'd sell em unions like I sold em everthing else--and fer oncet they'd git
their money's worth, and more!
"If thas bein a bad American, I reckon as how I'm one awright. I may not
be the smartest man in the world, but I is got horse-sense. I kaint figger
out whas wrong with the world cause I ain got the edjecation. I don't know
whether ta expect more war or depression--it's bound ta be one or the
other. But jus from what I seed with my own eyes, I'm dead certain thet
poor people--white, black, all colors--is gonna have ta fight tagether ta
even keep alive. And no matter what happens, ifen they git tagether and
stick together the can do anything!"
February 3, 1939
Homer Jordan (white)
3456 Edison Avenue
Jacksonville, Florida
(Salesman & installment collector:
furniture, clothing, burial insurance;
Negro customers)
Stetson Kennedy, writer
Text from: Library of
Congress, Manuscript Division, WPA Federal Writers' Project Collection
|